


could you live with this?

by lukegodbaby



Series: hatef--k [3]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: :D, F slur, Homophobic Language, Hospitalization, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, i uh, might have based this on like, my many years being vulnerable in therapy, patrick gets therapized, patrick is very vulnerable in this tbh, so... :D
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-10-30 06:17:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20809931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lukegodbaby/pseuds/lukegodbaby
Summary: While your shouting friends that despise you to your faceWhat would they say now if they saw you in this place?Naked and breathless, could you live with this disgrace?Could you live? Could you live? Could you live with this?





	could you live with this?

**Author's Note:**

> please forgive me if this doesn't feel true to you. this is based off of my many years in therapy. yee, and dare i say it, haw.

**EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD**

There was no shrink in Derry. There was a clinic, a set of general doctors, but no shrink. And no psychiatrist. Something he'd found was different from a shrink. 

He'd gone to the doctors at the clinic, no parents involved. Told them nothing but he needed a shrink who could medicate him. 

The doctor, the same one who'd stitched him up and treated his burns with the patience of a saint all his life, she looked him in the eye and asked, "Patrick, are you okay?"

"Never have been," he said. She lifted her eyebrows. "But it's time to change that."

She nodded. She said, "I'll be back." And she left the room. 

He stared at the decor she'd chosen for her office. Seafoam green and sandy tan and pictures of ocean waves. 

She had a California, big Hollywood accent. 

Someone was missing home. 

She came back and handed him two cards. 

"Both of these people," she said, "are covered by your parents' insurance. This one, that's the one who will prescribe what you need. Antidepressants, you name it. This one, I think you'd say, will shrink your head."

He smiled. Wasn't scary about it. 

"Thanks, Amy."

They talked briefly about how he was doing. Chit chat. Small talk. 

She sent him on his way. 

Now, though, he was sitting in the passenger seat of the Trans Am. Outside a clinic for crazies in Bangor. A one-hit wonder: his psych and shrink, both inside. 

His psych: Dr. Patel. 

His shrink: Dr. Stevens. 

Both women. Who he'd bet, would be terrified of him. 

It's just him and Vic in the car. Henry's doing Saturday chores, Belch at wrestling practice. 

Vic drove 'cause after a single mile with Patrick behind the wheel, he'd thrown his hands up about how fast Patrick was driving and said, "pull over. You'll get us both killed."

Now. The parking lot. Vic's eyes on him. 

He flicked his lighter open and closed. _This is real_, he told himself. _This is real, and you want it. You don't want to be a psychopath forever. _

Shit, maybe he did. 

Maybe he wanted to turn around, use his fake ID to get whatever hard liquor he could, drink until he lost control. 

Visit the junkyard again, first time in…. what, six years? Thirteen, and he'd found his rush in other people's bodies and never gone back. 

By now, that cat he'd left there would be mummified. 

He closed his eyes, flicked his lighter closed. 

A hand on the back of his neck. 

Vic's voice. 

"Patrick, why are we here?"

He opened his eyes. 

_This is real. It's real. It's real. _

_… Maybe it's not. _

_Who cares? Have fun, scare the doctors, see if what they give you gets you high. _

"We're here," he said, "'cause I am one_ sick_ son of a bitch."

Vic hummed, but said nothing. He sniffed, and Patrick remembered the tears he'd let loose when Patrick had fingered him. And God. God, what Patrick wanted. What he ached for, to be on top of Vic right now, in the backseat, tearing his clothes away and hiding from what he needed most. 

Vic wouldn't want him, if he knew half of what was going on in his head, half of what he'd done for a thrill. 

He cleared his throat. 

"I'm going in," he said. "I'm going in, and I want you in the waiting room the whole time."

"I can do that."

Without waiting, he got out of the car. Vic followed as he stalked to the doors and yanked one open. He went inside. 

He filled out the intake forms, his rosary pulled off his neck and wrapped around his left hand. 

He turned the forms in. He waited, Vic sitting next to him, bouncing one leg. 

"Patrick?" called a voice from his right. 

He looked. Vic looked. A younger doctor in street clothes stood smiling, holding a clipboard. 

He stood. 

"That's me," he said. 

"Excellent," she said. "Right this way, please."

He followed her. Without a word, trying to quiet his head. 

He didn't look back at Vic. This was because he knew, deep down, he was leaving one life and beginning another. 

He didn't want Vic to turn into a pillar of salt. 

He wanted him to still be there when he came back. 

They got to an open door. She gestured to it, welcoming him inside, and he stepped across the threshold into the room. 

In it, a couch and two chairs. He stared at them all. 

"Sit where you like," she said. "And I'll sit where you feel most comfortable for me."

He sat in an armchair, gestured at the other, only a few feet away. 

She sat. 

"My name," she started. 

"Dr. Stevens," he said. 

She smiled. 

"This is going to sound like a joke, but my parents call me _Dr. Stevens_ because they're proud of me. But I ask my clients to call me Charlie."

"Don't you mean _patients?_"

"No."

He lifted his eyebrows. Nodded. 

"_Clients_," he whispered. 

She stayed quiet for a moment, rearranging the papers she had on her clipboard, and then said, "you seem to be wondering how this works."

"Gee, Chuck, nice pickup line."

She smiled. 

"All our sessions will be a free-for-all. All I ask is that you tell the truth. I will ask you one question to begin this session, but all other sessions will be unprompted, whatever you want to talk about."

"Okay," he said slowly. 

"So. Let's begin?"

"Okay."

"Patrick," she said, putting her clipboard to the side, "my one question is this: why are you here?"

\---

**NINETEEN YEARS OLD**

“— and in the junkyard, there was this fuckin’ old fridge, you know? From like the 50s. Kind you just can’t get out of if you get in.”

“I see.”

“Probably the most evil thing I ever did —”

“Did, or thought about doing?”

“Did. Full stop. I did that shit.”

“Go on.”

“I uh. Took my neighbor’s cat and shoved it in a milk crate, hauled it all the way across town to this fridge in the junkyard, and I put the cat in there.”

He knew by now that it was the anti-anxiety meds, what allowed him to cry. He’d been too pent up, rolled in thick sheets of glass, all bottled up a year ago. And now he was finally talking about it, and here he was, tears running down his face.

“I killed that cat ‘cause I could. I think I just wanted a little bit of power, y’know, and so I killed my neighbor’s cat, every stray dog I could lure to the junkyard, a chicken from a farm out near Henry’s place, a couple of rats... that’s not all, that’s just what I can remember.”

“Power.”

“Yeah. Could you…?”

She handed him the tissue box.

“Jesus, thanks,” he said. 

He wiped the tears away. He took a deep breath, but they just kept coming. 

"I know you've heard it before, Patrick -" she said. 

"God, Chuck, please don't."

"Patrick, part of my job is awarding vulnerability, especially in cases like yours. I'm proud of you. It takes - forgive me, but, you've got the balls to admit you did something, and you're crying about it."

"I'm feeling pretty uh, ballsless, right now, Chuck."

"Well, you're not, I assure you."

"I guess."

"Patrick, there's a lot of strength in vulnerability. Just being here, talking to me - that takes strength."

"I don't feel strong. I felt strong with… with the fridge… but I don't feel strong right now."

"I have to be mindful of the end of our session coming close, but how do you feel?"

"I feel…" he closed his eyes. "I feel like how those animals probably felt when they realized there was no escape. They were just gonna die there, and that would be that."

"No escape. Patrick, on the scale of one to ten - "

"Five," he said, smiling and wiping tears off his face. "But you know me."

"You won't be committing suicide today?"

"Nah."

"You'll be safe?"

"Safe as life."

She looked taken aback for a second, then sighed. 

"Patrick, what does that mean to you?"

"Y'know, that life isn't very safe."

"Very poetic. Level with me, though. How will you keep yourself safe?"

He thought about Vic. About Vic's boyfriend from Etna. 

Belch and his job. His mama. 

Henry… and the home he couldn't wait to escape. 

Everyone had their ways of staying safe. Everyone had reasons to stick around. 

Except him. 

He deserved to die.

He smiled. 

"I'm going to a party tonight," he said. "Might get high, find someone to fuck."

"I assume you don't want the self-medication lecture?"

"It's just a distraction, I promise."

"Lots of distractions can become addictions, if we let them."

"I _promise, _Chuck."

"All right. Let's wrap up."

He finished with her and spoke with Dr. Patel about his side effects and continuing symptoms. 

He was sent on his way. 

He took a deep breath before going outside. It was a beautiful summer day, Greta Bowie was throwing a party tonight, and he was going. He was going to forget how he felt right now if it was the last thing he did. 

He pushed open the door of the clinic, pressing out into the parking lot. 

Parked beside his Chevy was the Trans Am, the guys all leaning on its front bumper. 

He stopped short. He took in a breath through his nose, and he saw red. 

He pushed himself forward, headed straight at them. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked when he was close enough to be heard. 

“Wanted to see what was so special that you ditched us for it every Saturday for a year,” Henry barked. “Shoulda fuckin’ known it was some fag shit like a shrink.”

“Henry,” he said, keeping his voice low and even, but just as dangerous as a young man who was rubbed raw could be, “shut your trap. I don’t really care. What I meant to ask was, _Vic_, what the fuck are _they _doing here?”

Vic held his ground. Sweet little Bambi kid, so much more brave now that he had a boyfriend. 

“They wanted to know, Patrick.”

“Vic, did you ever fuckin’ think that maybe it’s not their business?” Patrick snarled. “I made it your business for my own reasons — that wasn’t an invitation to tell anyone else, much less bring them to my fuckin’ shrink’s office.”

Vic opened his mouth, probably to snap something at Patrick, but was interrupted by Henry snorting. 

“A fuckin’ shrink,” he chuckled. And then it turned into a wheezing laugh, that sound Patrick had once found so fascinating, now uglier than could be believed. “Jesus, I knew you were crazy, but _God_. What d’ya think, Patrick? How close are they to throwing you into a padded room?”

Patrick didn’t think about it. He flew at Henry, nails first. Clawed at his face, then balled his hands into fists and set to pounding Henry’s face into a new shape. 

"_Patrick, stop!"_ Vic shouted. .

Someone — Belch — grabbed Patrick by the waist and pulled him off Henry. 

Patrick yanked himself away from Belch, snarling. He finally got a look at his handiwork, Henry's face all swollen and bleeding. 

He turned away, only to find himself face to face with Charlie. 

"_Chuck,"_ he breathed. 

"Patrick," she said. "Come inside."

He nodded, but made no moves. 

She looked over his shoulder at the guys. 

"I expect you all to leave. Now. Respect his privacy from now on."

"Yes, ma'am," Belch said, all hush.

"Patrick, let's go inside," she said. 

\---

**TWENTY-THREE YEARS OLD**

He practically strutted into that session. 

She smiled. 

"Am I right in making the assumption you're in a good mood?" she asked. 

“God, yeah,” he said, grinning. “And you’re never gonna guess why.”

“I won’t even attempt to, then. Why are you in a good mood, Patrick?”

“I fucked Vic.”

She blinked, and then smiled. 

“Your Vic? Bambi?”

He nodded, eagerly. 

“_Bambi_.”

“How did this happen? I thought you said it would never happen again.”

“I mean, technically, this was the first time. We fucked around in high school, that one time I told you about, but… this was our first time.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, though. Technicalities, yes, but no answers.”

“I, uh. Well, he asked me to take him to a gay bar, right?”

“Right. Vic loves that kind of scene.”

“_Right_. He begged. I finally gave in. He loves that kind of scene, but I really don’t, so I didn’t want to take him, y’know?”

“I see.”

“But he begged. So sweet about it, too, but kinda annoying. Vic, in a nutshell. But then, uh, I kinda lost my cool.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, technically, I lost my _shit_. Big difference. But, uh, so he disappeared, right?”

“Right.”

“Gone.”

“Gone.”

“And I took him to a little bar, so I’d be able to keep an eye on him, y’know, ‘cause he’s kinda my responsibility sometimes, y’know?”

“You have explained that dynamic, yes.”

“And he disappears. Gone. And I’m thinking, _shit. What the fuck_. So I looked everywhere for him, and find him in the bathroom about to hook up with some stranger.”

“Ah. That is, I assume, where you lost your shit?”

“Yeah, big time. I fuckin’... I saw red, Chuck. I wanted to kill that guy.”

“The stranger.”

“Yeah.”

“What did you do?”

“I uh… I’m not proud of this, okay?”

“Okay. No pride.”

“I threatened him. I was holding a whole bottle of whiskey, paid an arm and a leg so I could have the whole thing, and I told him, _let’s see if this breaks, or your skull breaks. Which comes first_, y’know?”

“I see. Did you employ any of the grounding techniques we’ve worked on?”

“...no.”

“I can’t say I’m _not _disappointed.”

“I did hear your voice in my head, though.”

“You’re not saying a hallucination, correct?”

“Right. Just the little Charlie I have, saying good shit at me when I’m mad.”

She smiled. 

“I don’t mean to sound dismissive, but I am still tickled that I’ve become your conscience.”

“Yeah, you’re my Jiminy Cricket.”

“Go on. You threatened the stranger. What happened next?”

“He bolted. I grabbed Vic, pulled him outside. Kinda tore into him for just disappearing to fuck some random guy, and he got really pissed at me. Told me he wasn’t my boyfriend, and he wouldn’t want me. ‘Cause he knows what I’m medicated for, the delusions and the… well, you know. And ‘cause I still don’t know he’s real.”.

“I’m — I’m struck by those words. He _wouldn’t want you_.”

“Yeah. He called me crazy, too.”

“Oh, Patrick.”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t imagine what hearing something like that from someone you care so deeply about must be like.”

“It… didn’t feel good.”

“I bet.”

“But… you know. I pulled the last card I could think of. I tried to seduce him.”

“Ah. The old standby.”

He huffed out a laugh. 

“Yeah.”

“I would like to point out, though: you didn’t say _I tried to fuck him_. You said _seduce him_. That’s not common verbiage for you.”

“Yeah. Uh, I guess what it is, is that. Sure, it was about sex, but this isn’t some random stranger. I didn’t just go in with the intent to fuck, I wanted him to want me.”

“You wanted reciprocation.”

“Yeah…”

“How did he respond?”

“Pushed me away. I stopped seeing red, I guess I was so shocked that he wouldn’t want me, even when I, uh. Called him _baby_, which I know he likes.”

“Hm. A surprising response.”

“Yeah. But then he all but jumped me, told me he hopes I burn in Hell.”

She narrowed her eyes and then smiled. 

"Based on how you came in smiling, I'm going to guess you didn't mind that sentiment?"

"Course not. I probably will burn in Hell. But if it turns out being gay really is a sin, he'll be with me. Won't be so bad."

She nodded. 

"And then… we fucked," he said, shrugging. 

"I see. What was the aftermath?"

"He, uh. Got kinda sad. Said, _you still don't know I'm real. _I told him I know he's real, I just don't always agree with that."

She pretended to fan herself. 

“Oh, Patrick. You do know how to make a heart flutter.”

“_It’s true, though._”

“I know it’s true. And Vic, after all this time, should know that, too.”

He smiled. 

“I hope so.”

“How has this affected your relationship with him?”

“Uh, well, we’re fucking like rabbits lately.”

She nodded, then gestured for him to go on. 

“But like, I think he wants me to be his boyfriend. But I think he’s also still scared.”

"You _think_ he wants to be your boyfriend. Have you asked him? Have you also spoken to him about this perceived fear?"

"... no."

"So you're trying to read his mind, see what happens?"

He laughed, putting a hand on the back of his neck. 

"I guess so. It's Vic, y'know? I know him."

"Patrick, we can never truly know what someone is thinking or feeling unless we ask them. Even then, it's up to them to be real and honest with us."

"Yeah. What do I do?"

"What do you think you should do?"

He sighed. He wanted to be told. 

"I don't want to fuck this up. But I guess...I should ask him what he wants, what he needs. If he's still scared?"

"That sounds like a solid plan to me. Then, I’d say, no matter what his answer is, respect it and go on caring for him, as you do.”

He smiled. 

“Yeah.”

“We’ve got ten minutes. Let’s discuss your symptoms, shall we?”

“Sure. Then, can we go over the game plan again?”

“Absolutely.”

\---

**NINETEEN YEARS OLD**

In the waiting room, Charlie led him to a chair. He sat down, put his face between his knees, and cried. 

“Patrick,” she said, “do you want to move to a more private room?”

“Please?” he sobbed. 

He pulled his face out of his lap to look at her. She was getting to her feet. 

“This way,” she said, gesturing to the door that led to the offices. 

As they passed the clinic secretary, Charlie said, “please tell my next client I may be late to meet with them.”

The secretary nodded. 

They went through the door, down the hall to Charlie’s office. Charlie ushered him to his normal chair, and knelt beside it. 

“Would you like to hold my hand?” she asked. 

He nodded, still crying. She held out a hand, and he took it in both of his. 

He’d never known how small her hands were. She was a small woman, standing next to her cast a shadow over her face, but still, he’d never known. 

“Do you want to tell me exactly what happened?” she asked. 

“They — they just… just came here. Without asking. Vic… told them, I guess, where I’ve been going all this time, and he brought them here.”

“That is a great betrayal of trust, Patrick. I am so deeply sorry.”

“It’s —”

“If you say that this is _okay_, I will be so disappointed in you. You know better than to dismiss your own pain.”

He cried harder. 

“Patrick, please take a deep breath for me.”

A deep, shaky breath. He held it, like he couldn’t remember how to let it out. 

“Exhale with me on _three_. One, two, three…”

He exhaled. 

“Who was the boy who talked about the padded room?”

“H-henry…”

She closed her eyes. She nodded. 

She knew a lot about Henry. 

“I can assure you, Patrick, there is no _padded room_ in your future.”

“O-okay.”

“You are allowed to be scared of that possibility. Inpatient facilities are not fun places, but they can do good.”

“_Please don’t send me there_.”

“I can’t promise you that. Patrick, on a scale of one to ten, right now, how are your suicidal thoughts?”

“So bad.”

“One to ten, please.”

“Eight.”

“I see. Do you feel safe, going home? Being alone.”

He shook his head. Paused. Nodded. 

“You don’t know?”

“I — I have no idea.”

“Patrick, if you don’t feel like you can keep yourself safe, I will ask that you admit yourself to an inpatient facility. I can be there during every step of your intake process. I will be here for you. I refuse to let you die.”

“Will they put me in a straight jacket?” he whispered. 

“Restraints will only be used if you are threatening yourself, or another patient.”

“Okay…”

“What do you need to do?”

“Inpatient. Not safe.”

She nodded. 

“There is an inpatient facility in Portland. It is quite a drive, and the clinic will tow your car if you leave it here. I can drive behind you.”

“Okay.”

She glanced out the window. 

“Those boys are gone.”

He sniffled. 

“I need to call my mother and father.”

“That was my next course of action, as well. Would you like me to make the call?”

“No. I need to.”

“I understand. Let me take you to a phone.”

\---

**EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD**

"Patrick," she said, "my one question is this: why are you here?"

He blinked. 

_Shit_. 

Where was he supposed to start?

“I, uh. Well, Chuck. I’m pretty fuckin’ crazy.”

“I see.”

“Uh, well, no, you don’t.”

“That was simply a prompt for you to tell me more, Patrick.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Can you expand on this? Why do you describe yourself as _crazy_?”

“Well. I don’t think I’ve cried since… since I was a baby. Course, I can’t remember that far back, but y’know, every baby cries.”

“I see. Go on.”

“And uh. This is gonna sound really weird, so, I guess, get ready.”

She shifted in her seat. Put both feet flat on the floor. 

“I’m ready,” she said. 

“Nothing… is real to me.”

“Please expand on that for me?”

“Uh. The way I think about it is that, I am the only real person. The only real thing, actually, and everything else is just… I made it. I made them.”

“You made them.”

“But they’re not real. Not like me. I’m… magic, I guess.”

“How would you describe yourself, as the only real person?”

“I feel… like a god, actually.”

“Like a god.”

“Yeah.”

“How do you feel about feeling like a god? I would think that would be lonely.”

“Wouldn’t say it’s all that lonely.”

"What_ would_ you say?"

"It's…" he thought about it… "it's heady. Powerful. I love it, but… but I'm here 'cause I feel like I'm missing something, y'know?"

"What do you feel like you're missing?"

"Well, I, uh. I fucked around with my buddy, right?”

“Right.”

“And the entire time, I was thinking, _it’s not real, but I can make it real. I want it to be real_.”

“You wanted it to be real. Did you make it real?”

“I thought so, at first. But then, it wore off. Doesn’t feel real anymore.”

“But you want that. You want this _realness_.”

“I want it, bad. I want it for sex, for my parents — I mean, fuck them, but — for them to feel real, for my friends…”

"I'm interested to know why sex came first. Before your parents or friends."

"Sex seems to be all I have."

"Expand on that for me."

"Sex is the easiest thing to make real, if I want it to be."

“Can you make people real? Your parents, say, or your friends?”

“No. I think, sometimes, well, I wonder. If they’re real.”

“I see.”

“Henry, my best friend, I think… sometimes I think he might be real. And then he’s just… not smart enough. To be real.”

“How is your relationship with him?”

Patrick smiled.

“Fraught, I think, would be the word.”

“Oh?”

“I’m constantly trying to get in his pants, and he’s too straight.”

“How many times have you tried?”

His smile turned into a grin.

“Too many. I might just give up.”

“Is he the one you _fucked around with_?”

“God, no. What made you think that?”

“I’m just trying to get a handle on your life so far, Patrick. How many friends do you have?”

“Three. Henry, Vic, and Belch.”

She smiled.

“I take it _Belch_ is a nickname?”

“Yeah.”

“Which one was it, then? Not Henry.”

“Not Henry. Vic.”

“Tell me about your relationship with Vic. I’m interested as to why you would have wanted fucking around with him to be real.”

“Well, he’s… I dunno. I had this thought while I was fucking around with him that he’s like if Bambi was a kid, bleached his hair, and read Playgirl.”

“Ah. Is _delicate_ a good word for him?”

“Delicate… yeah it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> catch me elsewhere at god--baby.tumblr.com


End file.
